The Table Story
by Smallvillian
Summary: Remember Martha's line in Krypto? "Clark was three when he did that." Ever wonder what happened to the table the first time around?


The Table Story  
Author: Smallvillian  
Author's note: Krypto-- "Clark was three when he did that." Thanks to Renee for point the edits :)

"Clark, baby, it's time for dinner."

The dark-haired little boy sitting at her feet on the floor looked up from his play as if to say , "I really have no idea what you just said, but I thank you for your consideration. You're very kind to think of me," then returned to a rousing little game of "How high do blocks go before they fall?"

Martha smiled down at her child and decided to let him be while she set three places at the table. Jonathan would be in soon and it wouldn't hurt to let Clark play until then. "All right. Just a little bit longer. But when daddy comes, it's time to put the toys away. "

At that, he twisted himself around and gazed expectantly at the kitchen door, looking like a puppy waiting anxiously for his boy to return home from school. Clark didn't say a whole lot yet in the three weeks he'd been with them, but he did know some words.

"Daddy?"

"No, honey. He's not finished with work yet, but he'll be here in just a little while," she answered sweetly.

Whether he understood her or just the fact that Jonathan was nowhere to be found, his face fell, complete with full pout, before halfheartedly returning to his game.

Martha busied herself with checking the stove and pulling at this pan and that. Chicken seemed to be a favorite of Clark's, so they'd been having it quite often these days.

"Don't touch. That's very hot," she informed Clark, when he decided to forego his play in order to investigate just what would be served to him that night. He leaned in close to the pan and sniffed as she slid the pan completely out, seeing that it was done.

"Chicken," he announced with glee, a smile brightening his face.

"Chicken?" groaned a deep, unhappy voice.

Martha turned and smiled at her husband who had slipped quietly through screen door and was taking off his work gloves and putting them on the counter. Before she could respond, Clark was already in Jonathan's arms. "Daddy!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around the man's neck.

Martha watched her young farmer's expression change from disappointment to delight in the time it took for their son say the one word. "Well, I suppose a third night won't kill me," he said with a half-grin. "But at least tell me we're not having peas."

Peas did not agree with Clark. They'd learned that two nights before when, right after eating them, he didn't look well and sat holding his stomach on the couch. Jonathan had tried to console him while she took his temperature and, well-- to make a long story short--no one enjoys green vomit down the front of their shirt.

"No peas," she assured him, and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"Well, good then," he said, smiling back at Clark. "What did my little family do today, huh?" He adjusted the boy in his arms, still grinning.

"Oh, Clark was a wonderful helper," Martha said happily. "He helped in the garden, helped fold the laundry, and even cleaned his room." She petted the boy's hair and watched him squirm in Jonathan's hold, wanting to be put down.

"Where's he off to?" Jonathan asked, seeing him scamper up the stairs.

"I'm not sure," she said, looking after her son with a puzzled expression.

When he raced back down with paper in hand, the answer dawned on her. "Clark made a picture," she said with some hesitation. "I think he wants to show it to you."

Jonathan took the white paper, turning it this way and that, making a show of his intense focus. "Let's see what we have here," he mused aloud in a lower voice, as if in deep serious thought. Only to raise an eyebrow at what he found.

"That's you," Martha supplied helpfully from beside him, pointing to the yellow blob next to a red blob, which he assumed was the truck. "And me," she added, pointing to an orange blob. "And... Clark " she trailed off uneasily, pointing to the black figure holding the truck up.

He blinked at it a few times than glanced down at Clark's smiling eyes. "It's wonderful," he praised, scruffing the child's hair. "The best picture I ever saw."

That seemed to please the boy, who clapped his hands and giggled. "Ok, honey, go sit at the table, all right?" Martha told him, gesturing to the table a few feet behind them. Clark understood that perfectly well. It meant it was time to eat, and he wasted no time bounding past the blocks on the floor, heading to his chair. He stopped short, however, at discovering a plate of corn set near the edge, but clearly not within reach from his seat. The wheels in his little mind began to turn.

"I thought you might be a little upset about that," Martha whispered, standing with her son not far behind her, then wondered why she had bothered when Clark couldn't understand the conversation in the first place.

"Oh, Martha," Jonathan mumbled dismissively, "It's just a picture drawn by a three-year-old boy. I'd be more concerned if the picture showed this in the middle of the town square. We just have to keep reminding him not to do this"--he poked a finger at the picture of super-strength--"in front of anyone, that's all."

"Exactly," Martha answered encouragingly, relieved that her husband wasn't overreacting.

In the meantime eager, searching little hands reached for the plate that held his very favorite vegetable. When Clark couldn't reach his target on tip-toe, he decided that maybe giving the table a jerk would slide it his way.

"We'll just have to teach him that showing his strength is only for when he's at home."

Unfortunately, he stepped back and lost his balance on a block that still lay on the floor.

"I'm sure he'll learn to be very--"

The table leg wasn't quite as stout as Clark and it promptly broke off, sending table and food to the floor with a noisy crash.

Both parents whirled around to see their toddler standing, table leg still in hand, eyes huge, in the middle of a very big mess.

"--Careful," Jonathan finished with a sigh.

The End


End file.
